


Mysophobia [51. Rape]

by VtheHappyLurker



Category: Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers (Marvel Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Black Comedy, Dark Comedy, Gang Rape, M/M, Obscure Characters, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 09:50:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VtheHappyLurker/pseuds/VtheHappyLurker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While down in the sub-levels of the Nemesis on clean up duty, Windsweeper finds himself seperated from his fellow Triggercons and discovers just how dangerous it is to ignore warnings posted by a sixcharger...</p>
<p>[Written for a challenge at y!gallery and x-posted]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mysophobia [51. Rape]

**Author's Note:**

> [A/N: First off MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING! This story deals with non-consensual sex acts and sexual violence. Setting is a grab-bag of the G1 cartoon, the Marvel comics, the tech specs, and whatever amusing or interesting bits I’ve gleaned from the TF wiki, like Sixshot being the Terrorcons’ “keeper” (based off the Spotlight comic). I am mainly sticking with the G1 canon for much of the character personalities, though.]

  
**~** _***Earth, 1986 A.D.: Nemesis Base...** _   


It seemed such a simple assignment: Go down to the lower levels and clean them. And cleaning was what Windsweeper did best. Maybe to the other Deceptions janitorial duty was an insufferably petty punishment but to Windsweeper it was not only his pleasure but his life’s calling to cleanse every nanometer of sky and ground and all the space in-between of vile, cluttering filth. It was a mission he felt every ‘con, from those dirty little ground humpers to the sleaziest Air Commander should devote themselves to with a dedication rivaling that of any mere faction or religion. Let the other mechs call him a ‘weird little neat freak’ or ‘badly wired’, the dirty bunch of slobs. As the quaint Earth saying went, cleanliness was next to godliness…

 

And so he went about the task with a glee that would’ve have disturbed any other ‘con but his trine mates, Ruckus and Crankcase, whom he had so * _selflessly_ * volunteered for janitorial duties that cycle as well. His cheerfulness and the giddy little tune he whistled only annoyed his fellow Triggercons as they shoveled away at the increasing masses of unmentionable muck.

 

“Dammit Windsweeper!” bellowed Ruckus as he scraped up a pile of fresh slag from the floor. “If you don’t quit makin’ that noise, I swear to Primus I’m gonna rip your slaggin’ vox out and fed it to you!”

 

“Both of you shut up!” hissed Crankcase in a terrified whisper. The whining little slacker glanced around the darkened passage way nervously, as if expecting an attack any second.

 

Ruckus glared at the cringing ‘con. He brandished the slag shovel at Crankcase. “Listen up, you sorry piece of scrap! If you ever tell me to shud’ up again, I’ll—”  
  


“I’m begging you, Ruckus! Be quiet or *they’ll* hear us…”

 

“They?! They *who*?!”

  
Dropping the scooper Windsweeper had forced him to lug around, Crankcase dragged his irritable comrade over to the far wall and pointed urgently at the crude plaque on it. “Didn’t you idiots *notice* the signs?”

  
Ruckus squinted up at the choppy scrawl, muttering the words aloud as he read.

>   
> “ **FINAL WARNING** : This section of the base has been designated for the Terrorcons. All other personnel are hereby warned to avoid entering this section on pain of * _pain*_. If you're lucky, they will just kill you. If not... Let me just say that I no longer assume responsibility for your stupidity. Back-up will * NOT* respond if the Terrorcons find you down here. I’m tired of having to save the sorry afts of every idiot who wanders down here. You have been warned, repeatedly. I will repeat one last time: Past this point, there is no salvation. There is no hope of rescue, no mercy, and no guarantee of you'll come back alive. This has been your final warning. Go any further, and whatever happens is your own damn fault— Sixshot.”

  
“See?” rasped Crankcase fearfully. “I kept telling you jerks that we should just turn around and forget about this slagging assignment! I didn’t join up with this damn outfit to be a fucking janitor, any way! And I’m certainly not going to *die* a fucking janitor, either!”

 

“Fine!” growled Ruckus. “We’ll go back up to main levels and tell that bastard boombox we’re done shovelin’ slag. Happy?”

 

“Oh, I’m in rapture here…” replied the other ‘con with sarcastic relief. “Did you hear that, Windsweeper? We’re going back!”

 

“Yeah, glitch! We’re done cleanin’ already!” barked Ruckus as both he and Crankcase turned around.

 

They stared up the meticulously cleaned and ominously empty corridor, hearing the faintest echo of cheery whistling. Suddenly, the whistling stopped. Briefly, they could have sworn that they heard Windsweeper calling for them from a good distance away. Then an ugly kind of silence fell, only to be broken by a shrill, terrified scream which was quickly choked off. Each mech looked at the other in anticipation. After several kilks, Crankcase spoke up.  
  


“You know, we could just *leave* him. Like Sixshot said, it’s his own damn fault…”

 

Ruckus thought it over, seriously considering how delightful it’d be to have rid of that annoying clean freak once and for all, but then he frowned when he realized they’d have to explain Windsweeper’s sudden loss to Megatron. There was also the fact that without Windsweeper around, he'd be stuck dealing with Crankcase's whining all alone. Besides going on a little ‘rescue’ mission was too good an excuse to beat the living slag out of *something* for Ruckus to pass up. “Nope. We gotta go get him.”  
  


“*We?!* When in the Pit did this include me?!” snapped Crankcase. “You’re the one who wants to save his sorry aft!”  
  


“Alright! Then I’ll save Windsweeper myself while you run away like a little glitch with no ball-bearings and a tinfoil backstrut!”  
  


“Fuck you, Ruckus!” snarled Crankcase as he flipped out his guns and started to charge into the darkness after his fellow Triggercon. “I just hope Hun-grr eats us feet first so I can say ‘I told you so!’.”  
  


~ * ~ * ~

_****Just a few kilks earlier…** _

Oblivious to his heading, Windsweeper quickly worked his way down the corridor in time to his merry whistling. It took him several kilks to notice that he was suddenly very much alone and completely lost in the base’s labyrinthine under-levels. The other two Triggercons were nowhere in sight.

 

He cursed violently. “Those miserable excuses for scrap! I can’t believe they’re slacking off—again!”

 

Slamming his shovel into the waste bucket, Windsweeper switched over to infrared to see through the pervasive gloom as he began searching for his comrades. “RUCKUS! CRANKCASE! WHERE IN THE PIT ARE YOU?!” He glanced around, feeling an unexpected pang of fear rush through his circuits. “RUCKUS?! CRANKCASE?! ANSWER ME, DAMN IT!”

  
Making a sweep of hallway, he saw a pair of mech shaped heat signatures moving lazily toward him. Letting out a relieved sigh, Windsweeper went back to normal optics and started for them. “Look here you sorry fraggers, I haven’t got time to…”

  
***“SPLAT!”***

 

In numb horror, Windsweeper reached up slowly and wiped a glob of viscous fluid off his faceplate. Then he looked at the ceiling.

 

_***“Hello, meat …”***_ gurgled Blot as he clung upside down in his hideous alt-form.

  
In the face of the very incarnation of germ-infested foulness, all Windsweeper could do was let loose the most unmechly of shrieks as Blot pounced and, transforming in mid-air, pinned him to the filthy floor. Whimpering in blind fear, Windsweeper felt his motive systems spasm then lock up as the vile mech leered down at him. He could only stare in helpless horror at the threads of ooze drooling from the loathsome Terrorcon’s mouth, dripping down all over his face and body.

 

_***“Boy, you sure got a pretty mouth…”***_ Blot burbled happily as he opened wide and licked the prone bomber across the face with an abnormally long, sticky tongue.

 

Fueled by the most desperate urge to be cleansed of the ghastly sludge, Windsweeper’s motive system surged back online and the mech slammed his knee hard into Blot’s pelvic region. While the horrid abomination was curled into a private world of pain, the Triggercon leapt to his feet and, hopeful of a speedy retreat to the maintenance bay for a thorough scrubbing, raced toward where he’d last seen the two heat signatures. He soon regretted that decision when he realized in panic that the two mechs he’d run to weren’t his trine-mates but Cutthroat and Sinnertwin, the second and third most psychotic killers in the Deceptions’ ranks. Both Windsweeper and the murderous pair stopped dead in their tracks, staring at one another in bewilderment.

  
“What is this?” rasped Sinnertwin, cocking his head to on side as he looked Windsweeper over. Circling hungrily around the petrified ‘con, he began a quiet two-sided conversation with himself. “Is it a Seeker? – No. It’s got wings, but it’s too short. Seekers all are tall and pompous afts. – Then is it a Conehead? Nah, it doesn’t have a funny looking head! – Yeah, it just ugly…” Moving closer, he sniffed at Windsweeper’s neck. “*snuff-snuff* Ugly and smelly... – It doesn’t matter what it is, anyway. It is an intruder! Now, what are we gonna do with it? – I dunno. Maybe we ought to just kill it – Hmmm…Nah. I wanna play with it first! — Then what kind of game should we play? ‘Chase’? – We * _always_ * play ‘Chase’! I’m bored of that game! – I know! Let’s ask Cutthroat! He might have some fun ideas!”

 

“Oh, I’ve got a really, really fun idea…” Chuckling, Cutthroat moved closer to Windsweeper as his fellow gestalt slipped up behind the hapless ‘con. He grabbed the bomber’s throat, leaning in so he was pressed hard against Windsweeper while Sinnertwin grabbed hold of his wrist and twisted their new playmate’s arm behind his back.

 

“I just thought up a wonderful little game! The rules are simple, meat,” he purred, brushing the claw of his thumb underneath Windsweeper’s chin. “If you want to get out of here alive, all you got to do is put out for me and my mate here. If you make us happy, then maybe we’ll even let you keep all your parts!”

  
“P-p-put out?” stammered Windsweeper in confusion.

  
Cutthroat gave him a feral grin. “You know… Put out. Do the *deed*.”

  
“The *deed*? I’m afraid I don’t under-?!” Suddenly, he realized what the Terrorcon was hitting at. He was aghast and, forgetting his current position, snarled, “Excuse me?! Are you suggesting that I…I *manually* interface the both of you? Sorry, but I’m afraid I just don’t do *it*!”

  
“Of course you do *it*! We all do it!” cooed Sinnertwin, nuzzling Windsweeper’s cheek. “Every ‘con does it! We love to do it! We just did it and we’re ready to do it again!”

  
“Gentlemechs—and I use the term very *loosely*—, I do not indulge in such vulgar pleasures!” He paused, and then added. “In fact, I doubt I’m even *equipped* for such loathsomely primitive acts!”

 

Sinnertwin giggled somewhat drunkenly and smirked at his gestalt mate. “I think we’ve got a cherry here, Cutthroat…”

  
“Then let me re-phrase my offer,” sneered Cutthroat, tightening his grip on the other ‘con’s throat. “Either you put out, or you won’t get out…alive. So, what’s it gonna be? Hump or death?”

  
Windsweeper gave him a funny look. “Humperdink?”

  
“Not Humperdink!” he snarled, slapping the Triggercon across the face. “Hump or Death! You’ve got ten astroseconds to decide! Hurry! Hump-death?! Hump-death?! Hump-death?! Hump-death?! Your time’s running out, meat!”

  
“All right! All right! HUMP!” Windsweeper shouted, self-preservation winning out over any sense of decency.

 

Cutthroat grinned evilly, reaching down to pop open his codpiece. “Good choice.”

 

“You make me sick,” Windsweeper hissed, turning away so he wouldn’t have to see the indecent thing. “I take it back! Kill me if you want! But I will *NOT* take part in you’re filthy little games!”

 

“Too late, meat…”

  
At a nod from his gestalt mate, Sinnertwin twisted even harder on the bomber’s arm and forced Windsweeper to his knees. The hapless ‘con opened his mouth to protest further only to have Cutthroat grab the back of his helmet and shove a hard, long rod into his mouth. Gagging violently, Windsweeper forced his optics offline and he choked on the vile *thing*. He silently wished that he could offline his audio pick-up as well and be spared the litany of obscenities the Terrorcon spewed out between gratified grunts that punctuated the rhythmic thrusting. Disgusted, he could feel fluid dripping down his chin and neck as Cutthroat rammed himself down the bomber’s throat.

 

Then suddenly, to Windsweeper momentary relief, another mech stormed up and roughly shoved Cutthroat to the ground.

  
***** _ **“He’s mine!”**_ ***** Blot gargled, wrapping his arms protectively around the petrified bomber. ***** _ **“I saw pretty ‘con first!”**_ *****

  
“You fucking little bastard…” growled Cutthroat as he got back to his feet. “I’m going to rip your slagging head off!”

 

“Wait, pet,” Sinnertwin cooed, grabbing his mate before he could pounce. “We should let Blot play too. He’s our brother and it’s only fair that we let him have a turn. –Yes yes! Let’s let Blot go first! He did catch him, after all…”

  
“Are you joking?! All this little slag’s going to do is make everything gross and...and… * _greasy*_ …” Slowly, he caught onto Sinnertwin’s hinting. With a smile that could’ve frozen a volcano, Cutthroat moved back over to Windsweeper and kicked him hard in the chest, sending the Triggercon sprawling across the floor on his back.

 

* _ **“Not fair! He’s—huh?”**_ * Blot’s protests faded to a surprised glug as he watched his brothers pinned the struggling Triggercon down and forced his legs apart.

 

“Well?” rasped Sinnertwin, reaching to pry open the panel of Windsweeper’s codpiece to reveal the unbroken outer seals of his manifold. He smiled invitingly and rubbed his fingers hard across the thin membrane, making their new toy moan softly. “What the fuck are you waiting for? Looks like he’s never even touched himself before… -You don’t come across a perfect little cherry like this every day, Blot.”

 

Blot knelt down in between the Triggercon’s legs but only stared down at fingers lazily stroking over the vibrating wrapper that covered the delicate friction sensors. He turned a nasty grin to his brother. * _ **“Open him up for me, Sinner**_.”

 

“Just take it raw you fucking glitch…” Cutthroat sneered impatiently, gnawing at the cables of Windsweeper’s throat.

  
Windsweeper shrieked when Sinnertwin obliged his profane sibling, writhing in agony as claws ripped away the seal and scraped across the delicate wiring of his now exposed plug-head. He whimpered and begged for mercy as the fingers slide down across the thin plating between his plug sheath and the newly bared valve, but the words died in another scream at sudden thrust of Sinnertwin’s fingers plunging into his valve and bursting open the inner seal. A shudder of disgust rattled through Windsweeper body as he felt those filthy claws twist inside him, spreading a mixture of lubricant and fluids around his port. He couldn’t stifle the vulgar groan as the claws rubbed against the inner sleeve, spreading out the supple polymer orifice more and more and more…

 

“Come on, brother dear…” purred Sinnertwin, finally pulling his fingers out to lewdly hold open their mewling victim’s valve. “We’ve gotten him started for you.”

 

 Gurgling happily, Blot dove face-first into Windsweeper's crouch and happily began to nuzzle and lick at his valve. His tongue slithered inside Windsweeper, probing deeper and deeper and deeper while all the helpless Triggercon could was writhe and bite back his moans. As Blot continued his oral violations, the other Terrorcons started raking claws across the seams in Windsweeper's armor, casually forcing open panels to lick and nibble at the delicate wiring hidden underneath. Windsweeper began sobbing in shame as he realized all this attention was becoming extremely pleasurable and he was starting grind his hips against Blot's face as the filthy beast twisted his tongue around his valve.

 

 “Looks like our new playmate's finally coming around,” snickered Cutthroat. “I don't think we need you anymore, Blot.”

 

 With one swift kick to his gestalt mate's head, Cutthroat sent Blot reeling back hissing and cursing. Before Windsweeper could even manage to protest, the grinning bird-monster flipped him onto his stomach and immediately started plunged into him. The Triggercon ground his denta, trying to endure the onslaught of sensations in silent disgrace but soon broke down into panting moans. His sobbing groans turned into miserable squeals as Cutthroat continued pounding into him faster and faster and faster... Only to be muffled by Sinnertwin ramming his rod into Windsweeper's mouth. He gagged on it, choking as they both proceeded to thrust wildly, ravaging his mouth and valve. Warnings flashed in front of Windsweeper's optics, his systems going crazy from the double assault as a total overload threatened to overtake him. Finally, Windsweeper found himself overwhelmed by a sudden jolt of ecstasy as he choked back the thick slime spewing out of Sinnertwin's rod.

  
As he collapsed to the floor, Windsweeper was vaguely aware that the two Terrorcon's had lost interest in him and had decided to turn their lusts on each. He could hear them growling and clawing at each, then Cutthroat's sudden howl of pain as Sinnertwin punched him in the jaw and dashed away with his now cackling gestalt-mate chasing after him. Soon Windsweeper was laying alone on the filthy floor, crying softly as the fluids congealed on his armor.

 

* _ **“Don't cry, pretty mech...,”**_ gargled Blot as he crawled over to Windsweeper. He nuzzled the cowering Triggercon's helm as he began to lazily paw at Windsweeper. * _ **They play too rough. Not me. I won't play rough with you. I'll be very nice to you, pretty mech. Very nice, very gentle...”***_

 

Rounding a corner, Ruckus and Crankcase finally appeared from the darkness.

 

“Thanks! Now we're lost and probably gonna die down here just like-” Crankcase started to whine, then they caught sight of Windsweeper being straddled by Blot.

  
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!” roared Ruckus as he came charging down the hallway. He didn't give Blot a chance to react before the enraged Triggercon flung him off his trine-mate. While Ruckus was busy beating the unholy slag out of the surprised Terrorcon, Crankcase warily approached Windsweeper.

  
“Hey... You...you still with us?” He gingerly reached out to him, only to end up with Windsweeper clinging to him. Crankcase just knelt there with Windsweeper's face buried in his shoulder and started sobbing hysterically.

 

“YOU BETTER RUN, YOU BASTARD!” screamed Ruckus after Blot finally managed to escape from the beserking Triggercon. He limped back over to his trine-mates, oblivious to the acid wounds and gouges. “...is he... 'Sweeper, can...can you walk?”

 

Crankcase gaped at him, stunned both from the state Windsweeper was in and the fact that Ruckus was actually talking quietly. “I...really don't think he can...”

 

“Then carry him, stupid,” Ruckus snapped as he nervously glanced back down the hall. “We've gotta get out of here fast before the rest of those fuckheads find us.”

 

“Sure...” Hoisting Windsweeper up into his arms, Crankcase turned and took off down back the way they had come with Ruckus following close behind.  
  


~ * ~ * ~

“...and that's what happened, TC-eh, Thundercracker, sir!” gasped Crankcase as he finished reporting the...incident to the newly appointed Air Gendarmerie of the the Decepticons. Normally no 'con in their right mind would have be caught dead ratting out another mech to the Cobalt Sentries, but given what happened to Windsweeper and the fact that it was the _Terrorcons_ who did it... Well, it was his duty to inform the proper authorities after all.  
  


“Do you have any proof?” asked the Seeker, frowning down at the two Triggercons.

 

Crankcase stared at him in shock while his trine-mate fumed in anger.

 

“YOU SAW WHAT THEY DID TO WINDSWEEPER!” Ruckus roared, barely able to keep from punching Thundercracker. “THEY FUCKING RAPED HIM!”

 

“I know what I saw. But I have to ask if you have any more evidence. Procedure, you know.” He was about to dismiss them when Buzzsaw zipped into the room. The bird was smirking merrily and dropped a data case in front of Thundercracker.  
  


“I thought you might like to see this, sir,” Buzzsaw chirped, turning toward the Triggercons. “It's a very interesting video file involving a certain neat freak and a couple of nasty little beasties who seem to have forgotten their place...”  
  


“...you... YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SLAG!” screamed Ruckus as he lunged for Buzzsaw only to be held back by Crankcase.

 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! The little monster is trying to help us, you moron!”

 

“HE WAS WATCHING! THE WHOLE TIME! AND DIDN'T TRY TO STOP THEM FROM-”

 

“That's enough!” roared Thundercracker, stunning them all with a small sonic boom. He picked up the data case and stared at it thoughtfully. Then he turned to Buzzsaw, who was now sprawling beside his desk. “This is a surveillance feed, right?”

 

“Yes, sir,” grumbled the cassette as he flapped back onto the desk. “And before you ask: no, I didn't tamper with the footage. Soundwave was very specific that we turn over the raw feed to you, oh might Air Gendarmerie.”  
  


Thundercracker shot him a nasty look, then turned back to the Triggercons. “Well, looks like we have all the evidence. You can go now.”

 

“BUT WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT-”

 

“I said you were dismissed!”  
  


“Come on, Ruckus... We ought to see how Windsweeper's doing, anyway.” Crankcase dragged him trine-mate out of the office.

 

As they walked down the hall to the med-bay, Ruckus feel eerily silent and he swore to himself that he'd get revenge for Windsweeper whatever the cost...

**~*~*~*~**


End file.
